


Looking Back, Moving Forward

by Schattengestalt



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Body Dysphoria, Childhood Memories, Domestic Fluff, FTM Sherlock Holmes, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Misgendering, Mutual Pining, Mycroft Being a Bastard, Pining John, Trans Male Character, Trans Sherlock, Transphobia, transphobic language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-03 21:16:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13349676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schattengestalt/pseuds/Schattengestalt
Summary: John believes that he has learned everything there is to know about Sherlock in the years that they have lived together. That is, until an unexpected letter arrives that challenges his view of his best friend.





	1. Visiting the Past

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, I hope you all made it into the new year in good health. :)   
> I will try to post the next and final chapter of this story in a couple of weeks, but don't be disappointed if it takes me three weeks instead.^^
> 
> I have to thank **Tstui1gos** for beta reading this story and finding all the annoying mistakes that I missed. If you find less superfluous commas in this chapter, it's also thanks to her. =D
> 
> On a different note, please read the tags before you start on this chapter. I included all the triggers I could think of, but if you are unsure, feel free to contact me.

### Visiting the Past

"You could have helped me, you know?"

 

His question was merely greeted with a snort and John sighed quietly as he sidestepped the mess on the floor to put the groceries into the fridge. At least, he didn't have to prepare himself for the sight of fresh body parts as they had worked on a smuggling case for over a week and Sherlock hadn't gotten the chance to do a shopping tour at the morgue. The case was also the reason why John had spent two hours at the closest Tesco, as they had run out of everything but canned beans. He had tried to force Sherlock to come shopping with him, but the lazy wanker had refused to set a foot outside of the flat and there hadn't been any experiments John could have threatened to throw out to change his friend's mind. Really, as if it was too ask for your flatmate to help you carry four bags with groceries - including the favorite biscuits of said flatmate.

 

"Stop muttering to yourself, John! I'm identifying the different compositions of the most popular chocolate brands right now."

 

"Right, of course, that's more important than helping me putting our things away... Wait, where did you get various types of chocolate from? We usually don't even have one type of chocolate in the flat - if you don't count your favorite chocolate cookies."

 

John watched fascinated as a slight blush crept up Sherlock's neck as he pressed his eye closer to the microscope. "I might have woken up after four hours of sleep, last evening and ran down to the next Tesco to get the samples... before I went back to bed." 

 

"And you couldn't be bothered... Nevermind." 

 

John sighed in resignation, even as a fond smile turned up his lips. He shouldn't be surprised - and he really wasn't - that his friend would go to Tesco for an experiment, but forget to buy anything that was truly necessary. In fact, John would probably have checked Sherlock's temperature if he had come down this morning and found the fridge and shelves stocked with eatable things. His friend didn't do ordinary things like going to the shops or cleaning up after himself - although John forced him to do the latter once in a while - and John had learned to live with that. Honestly, he almost hadn't been able to live without Sherlock's eccentrics and chaos, when his friend had faked his own death to dismantle Moriarty's network.

 

John swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat as memories of long and hopeless days resurfaced in his mind. He had been close to ending his existence more than once in that time. Actually, if it hadn't been for the lovely nurse at his former workplace, Sherlock might have only had a gravestone to come back to, when he had finally returned. Mary had been like a light bulb in the darkness - not enough to really brighten his day, but enough to make his life bearable again. John might even have settled for her, if Sherlock hadn't made a reappearance and... Well, it hadn't been hard to decide where he belonged. His brilliant friend - who was sniffing at a piece of dark chocolate and getting it all over his nose right now - would always win against any of John's dates... and wasn't that telling?!

 

John allowed himself another resigned sigh - seeing as Sherlock was too busy to deduce him - and turned his attention to the pile of bills that was stacked on the table in the living-room. Only because he had finally found the balls to admit to himself that he was in love with an eccentric, mad, brilliant and absolutely gorgeous genius, didn't mean that anything else had changed. Sherlock still wasn't interested in dating anyone and John would rather snog Anderson than forcing his - certainly unwanted - feelings on his friend. It was enough that they were back to living and solving crimes together and if John found himself overwhelmed by a wave of affection for his friend - like today - then he gave himself a boring task until he could meet Sherlock's eyes again without blushing.

 

John sorted through the bills and arranged them according to priority - although Sherlock would probably argue that an internet connection was more important than warm water. A chuckle was torn from John as he imagined the look on his friend's face, if he couldn't go online, before it morphed into a groan as he thought of the following tantrum.

 

"Better get it done then," John murmured to himself and reached for the first bill to write the transfer - their latest case had earned them enough money to pay everything - when an unopened envelope caught his gaze. It must have fallen down, as John had arranged the other bills. With a sigh, he reached for it - hopefully not another bill - and checked the sender. A slight frown appeared on his face and he was about to open it, before he thought better of it and wandered back into the kitchen instead.

 

"I'm busy," came Sherlock's protest, when John stepped up behind him.

"And covered in chocolate," John remarked with a smile in his voice, before he became serious again. "There was a letter from your health insurance in the mail and I thought..."

 

"Boring," Sherlock muttered and licked at a piece of chocolate. "Just open it. They have probably just done some stupid reform and want to inform all their clients about it."

 

John opened his mouth to protest - he was only Sherlock's friend after all and not a close relative or partner - but his friend beat him to it. "You are my best friend and doctor, John. You have patched me up more often than even I can count and I don't see why you shouldn't read this letter. We share everything else, after all."

 

John raised an eyebrow at that, as they clearly weren't sharing everything with each other - he hadn't even seen his friend completely naked for example - but he didn't try to argue the point as he opened the envelope. He scanned the letter once. Stopped, read it again. Blinked and went over it again, while trying to make sense of it. He failed miserably.

 

"Ehm, Sherlock," John started slowly, while still staring at the words that didn't make sense. "There must have been a mistake. A mix-up or something."

 

One blue eye peered up at John at this, but Sherlock still didn't turn away from his experiment. "If you tell me what's in the letter, I could make an informed statement."

 

"It," John checked the words once more to make sure that he hadn't confused anything. "It says that they aren't going to pay for your pelvic exam and Pap test, because they only cover these services for women."

 

"Oh for crying out loud!" 

 

John stumbled back a step, as Sherlock jumped up from his chair and all but tore the letter from his hands. "These stupid... Yes, of course they assigned me to someone else. Obviously, Mrs. Hardwood retired and now some stupid new kid is messing everything up. Great! Just fabulous!"

 

John could only stare in astonishment as Sherlock ranted and raved, while growling at the letter as if it had personally offended him. And it had, in some way. The content of it had sent his friend in a blinding rage, but John couldn't figure out what it was. The whole part about pelvic exams and Pap tests didn't make sense to him - at least not in regards to his friend - and he didn't understand why Sherlock was so angry about it. Better ask then, John decided, when his friend appeared to be on the verge of throwing the crockery at the wall. He didn't fancy cleaning up a mess, after spending his whole morning doing the shopping.

 

"What exactly... Why are you in such a strop? Did such a mix-up happen before?" At least the question got Sherlock's attention as a sharp gaze turned onto John and away from the helpless plates and mugs. 

 

"I'm not in a strop," Sherlock clarified calmly - too calmly. "I'm also not angry, but mad as hell, because," Sherlock took a deep breath and glared at the innocent looking letter. "I sorted everything out with my health insurance years ago and it took me months to get them to pay for my yearly pelvic exams and now, I will have to go through all of it again, because some stupid, overeager idiot messed everything up."

 

John blinked in disbelief and tried to make sense of Sherlock's little speech, as his friend leaned against the kitchen counter with a loud sigh. 

 

"You... need a yearly pelvic exam?" John stated carefully, afraid he had misunderstood something and was about to make a fool of himself. 

 

"Obviously, John. Do keep up, I... Oh shit!" In any other situation it would have been funny how Sherlock's eyes widened in panic as he stared at John. "You weren't there. I told you that I was transgender years ago, but... you weren't in the room with me, were you?!"

 

John shook his head slowly, his mind whirling with the new - and surprising - information. "No and I told you that it's not possible for me to listen to you, when I'm not actually there ages ago and... You should really check if you aren't just having a conversation in your Mind Palace or something. We went over this." The words came out calmer than John had expected, but Sherlock still looked close to a panic attack. 

 

"You were here - in this flat - when the conversation ended and I didn't realise that you didn't really know and..."

 

"Sherlock, just stop!" 

 

John interrupted his friend's rambling - his voice sharper than he had intended it to be. He rubbed his eyes tiredly as Sherlock snapped his mouth shut at his harsh order. Really, this was too much after a long and tiring case. John had only wanted to have a nice, lazy day with Sherlock and now... he had to deal with this. Although, it was rather unfair to think like this, John reminded himself as he took in the tension in Sherlock's body and his slightly trembling hands. He knew how his friend's mind worked and it wasn't the first time - and wouldn't be the last - that John had only been informed about something important in the Mind Palace. At least, there weren't any poisonous frogs in the shower, this time. Nevertheless, with the frogs, John had known what was acceptable to do - mainly screaming at Sherlock and getting him to remove the amphibians from their flat. Now though, John was at a loss to know what to say or do. On the one hand, he wanted nothing more than to sooth his friend and tell him that everything was fine, on the other hand... he didn't know if this was a good idea. Not because he liked the panicked look on Sherlock's face - quite the opposite - but rather because he didn't trust himself not to hurt his friend with any of the questions that were swirling around his head. He needed...

 

"I have to go for a walk," John announced abruptly and hurried to fetch his jacket. He needed to clear his head, without having Sherlock deduce his every thought.

 

"John!" He stopped at the threshold of the door and turned to Sherlock, who was wringing his hands nervously.

 

"We will talk later. " John tried for a reassuring smile, but failed miserably and he hurried out of the flat, before he could change his mind.

 

OOO

 

John was gone.

 

Sherlock stared at the spot where his friend had stood just minutes ago and felt a hopelessness creep up on him that he hadn't felt in a long time. Not since he had been captured by Moriarty's men in Serbia and he had lost all hope to ever get back to London and to John. It had been the worst months of his life - even including his time in rehab - and Sherlock had only survived, because of John. Because, he had needed to protect his friend - his best friend - even if it had killed him and now... Sherlock balled the letter from the insurance company up in his hand and threw it across the room. If they weren't so incompetent, then nothing of this would have happened. Sherlock wouldn't have lost his nerve and John... still wouldn't know that he was transgender.

 

The air whooshed out of his lungs in a rush and he collapsed in his armchair like a puppet, whose strings had been cut. It was too much. Just too much to absorb and understand, although his mind was already trying to fit this new realisation into the wing of his Palace that was solely reserved for John. All this time, Sherlock had believed that John knew - that he had come out to his friend - and that John accepted Sherlock as he was. Of course, it had surprised him that John had never asked any questions or hinted at anything, but months - and then years - after his supposed coming-out, Sherlock had believed that it simply didn't matter to John that he was transgender. At least not when it came to their daily routine. Still, Sherlock had sometimes wondered if his gender identity was the reason why John never acted on his feelings for him. 

 

Oh, the signs of his friend's attraction to him were obvious - Sherlock wasn't blind to feelings after all - and he couldn't deny that he cared for John as well. More than simply cared, if he was honest with himself. But just like his friend, Sherlock had never acted upon his feelings, because he had convinced himself that any advances would be rejected. John was attracted to him - might even love him - but it was possible that he didn't want to be together with a transman - it had happened before - and Sherlock had accepted it. Of course, he had hated it and - on especially bad days - he had hated himself - his body - for it, but it had been possible to live with it, as long as John stayed with him, but now... Sherlock didn't know what to think anymore. John hadn't known that he was transgender, so that wasn't the reason why he had never confessed his feelings to Sherlock.

 

Maybe, Sherlock mused as he tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling, John had been afraid of entering a relationship with a man. After all, he had only ever dated women and preferred to keep it at one night with men. Or he hadn't been certain that Sherlock returned his feelings. After all, Sherlock was aware that he was hard to read at times - and he liked it this way - and he also didn't know how to subtly show someone that he was interested in them. It had never been important to acquire the necessary skills. At university, Sherlock had picked his lovers from all the students that were interested in him if he felt like it, but he had never wanted someone so badly that he had needed to... flirt with them. It was an oversight on his part - to never learn what subtle flirting entailed - but it would also be in vain to learn it now. 

 

Sherlock sighed helplessly at the ceiling, as he followed the pattern of the wood with his eyes. John hadn't taken his coming-out as well as Sherlock had imagined in his Mind Palace and it was only a question of time before he would move out now. They would become strangers and Sherlock would lose the best friend he had ever had.

 

He forced the air past the lump in his throat as he inhaled deeply and tried to convince himself that he would survive losing John. The attempt failed, just like it had when Sherlock had tried to make himself believe that he wouldn't need the support of his parents, more than two decades ago.

 

"Mummy, Dad." Sherlock started nervously as he entered the living-room, which earned him the attention of his parents right away. They probably expected him to confess that one of his experiments had gone wrong and that he had set fire to the grass - again. At least, Sherlock deduced as much from Dad's amused smile and his Mummy's narrowed eyes as he fidgeted with the seam of his shirt. For all his cleverness, Sherlock couldn't predict if his parents would welcome the news he had to give them or if they would rather wish for a major fire.

"What is it, Aurelia?"

Sherlock took a shuddering breath at the mention of this name and forced the words out, before he could back out. "I don't want to go by this name anymore."

His Dad cocked his head to the side in mild confusion, while his mother raised an eyebrow at this announcement. "Do you want to go by one of your other names then? I rather thought you preferred Aurelia over Nathalie or Sophia, but if you want to be addressed by one of them, then..."

"No!" Sherlock shook his head vehemently, even as cold sweat started to gather at his neck. "I... Sherlock! I want to go by Sherlock."

His mother's frown only deepened and his Dad leaned forward in his armchair to peer at Sherlock over his glasses. "You know that Sherlock is a boy's name, Darling. Your mother and I would have given it to you, if you had been a boy."

"But I am a boy!" 

A fine tremor ran through Sherlock's body, as both of his parents stared at him in confusion and everything in him screamed to run away and hide in his room, but he refused to give up just yet. It had taken him almost a year to figure out why he hated it so much when people spoke to him as if he were a girl. Of course, for a time, Sherlock himself had believed that he was one - everyone had said so - and he had thought that it was just because most people underestimated girls. That he merely hated how they thought that he couldn't do the same things as boys his age and that he had to prove to them that they were wrong. That was until Sherlock had realised that he also despised being perceived as a girl by his family, although neither his parents nor Mycroft tried to force him into any stereotypical gender roles. Sherlock had been ten at the time of this realisation and he had spent a whole summer at various libraries, until he had found out why he felt this way.

 

Transgender... it had come as a relief to Sherlock that there was an actual word for it and that he wasn't the only one who struggled with their assigned gender. Nevertheless, it had taken some time to come to terms with how this would affect his life and even longer - another year - until Sherlock had decided that he couldn't keep his gender identity a secret any longer. Not only because it hurt whenever someone called him by his given name or referred to him as a girl, but also because his body was changing and he didn't know if he could make it through puberty without the support of his family. He just wasn't certain that he would have their support as he waited for their reactions with bated breath.

It was his Dad, who recovered from the shock first. Carefully, he sat down his reading glasses on the table and rubbed his eyes, before he met Sherlock's nervous gaze. "I just want to make sure I understand you correctly, Darling. You say that you are a boy and that you want to be called Sherlock from now on, correct?"

"Yes... Well, actually I want to change all of my names to William Sherlock Scott Holmes. You told me once that's what you would have called me, if they had assigned me male at birth." 

Sherlock gulped as his mother's piercing gaze bore into his. He wasn't afraid that his parents would hurt him physically, but if they didn't accept that he was a boy, it would hurt more than a slap in the face.

"You read some books about gender at the library, I guess." His mother waited until he nodded, before she continued. "Are you sure that they didn't just confuse you and you..."

"No!" Sherlock interrupted her, before she could go on. "I read them because I didn't know what was going on and I needed an explanation. I'm not a girl, but a boy. It's called being transgender and I really can't live as a girl anymore."

His parents exchanged a look and something passed between them that Sherlock couldn't decipher, before his mother nodded and his Dad turned to look at Sherlock again. "Go outside for some time, Darling. Your Mum and I need to discuss this."

"But..." Sherlock started. He didn't want them to discuss anything about him while he wasn't present. This was about his life and his future after all and he couldn't allow them to...

"We love you, Sweetie, but we really need some time to talk things through. I promise you that we won't make any decisions without you." The voice of his mother was gentle and Sherlock allowed himself to be calmed by it - and her words - as he left the room reluctantly. His feet carried him to his favorite place by the lake, where he sat down in the high grass and waited, while his heart was hammering away in his chest in fear and anticipation.

OOO

"Aurelia!"

Sherlock jumped at his mother's voice, even as his heart stuttered hopelessly at the use of his birth name. So then, they had decided that he wasn't a boy to them or that they didn't want him to be a boy... which came down to the same thing in the end. Sherlock would have to make it through puberty without the support of his parents when it became too much and he already knew that he would hate the changes to his body. He neither needed breasts nor menstruations, but he could survive getting them, if his family helped him through this time. Sherlock was certain of this, but if they didn't stand behind him, then... he didn't know how he was supposed to get through the next six years, until he would finally be of age. If his parents supported him, he could get his first hormones with sixteen - Sherlock had done some research - but if they weren't on his side, then he would have to wait until he was eighteen and that wasn't a happy thought. In fact, it was frightening as hell and Sherlock had the sudden urge to hide in the grass and never go back inside. He knew that it was childish to hide, but he felt terrible and he couldn't face his parents now. Not when they had just crushed all his hopes and...

"Sherlock! Come inside!"

He peeked up at that and when his Dad called him by his chosen name again, Sherlock cautiously came out from his hiding spot and wandered back to the house where his parents were waiting for him on the terrace. They both looked exhausted but determined and Sherlock felt himself starting to sweat again, as he sat down in one of the chairs and waited for one of his parents to speak. Finally, it was his mother who broke the silence. "Your Dad and I have discussed what you told us and if you want to be called Sherlock from now on then we will try our best to use this name."

"We might slip." His Dad warned him, as Sherlock forced himself to sit still and hear his parents out. "And it will take some time to wrap our heads around the idea that we have two sons now."

"Although," his mother jumped in, before Sherlock could add something of his own. "If you ever change your mind that's fine as well. Yes, I know," she held up her hand to stop Sherlock's protests. "You say that you are a boy and your Dad and I believe that you feel this way and it might very well be that you will always feel this way. If that's so, then we will support you on your way, but... if you feel different one day, then that's fine, too."

"What your Mum is trying to say," his Dad added as he noticed Sherlock's confusion. "Is that we want you to be happy, either as a girl or a boy. We will neither hold you to something you said today for the rest of your life nor will we try to force you to live as someone that you are not."

A small gasp fell from Sherlock's lips as the words finally sunk in and all the tension left his body in a rush. He wasn't ashamed of the tears that ran down his face, as his parents' arms enfolded him in a tight hug and he allowed hope to bloom once more.

 

Sherlock smiled faintly at the memory. His parents had been his greatest supporters - and still were - while he had struggled with his puberty and how his peers and society perceived him. Back then, it had neither been possible to get hormone blockers for a transgender teenager nor to change his gender marker on papers or his name legally. It had only been thanks to his mother that they had managed to add Sherlock as one of his names and as it was such an unusual name, no one had known if it was for boys or for girls. So, at least Sherlock had been called by his chosen name at school, which had made things marginally more bearable. Of course, Sherlock would have gladly skipped his monthly menstruations and the growing of his breasts - thankfully very small ones - but he had survived this time of his life, although Mycroft had done his utmost best to make it harder for him.

 

"Mummy, Dad, I'm back home!"

Sherlock's head snapped up from his book, as his brother announced his arrival loudly. Mycroft had been away to study a year abroad in France and Sherlock was thrilled to have him back. The few phone calls and letters hadn't been enough to make up for the absence of his brother and Sherlock also couldn't wait to tell Mycroft the good news. After all, Sherlock still remembered when his older brother had told him that he would have preferred a younger brother over a sister and he couldn't wait to see Mycroft's face, when he realised that his wish had come true.

Sherlock closed the book and jumped to his feet to greet Mycroft in the kitchen. Their parents had decided that it would be better to wait until his brother got back home to tell him about Sherlock's gender identity. So far, his brother only knew that he didn't go by the name Aurelia anymore - which Mycroft had found funny - and Sherlock couldn't wait for the look on his face, when he learned everything.

"Mycroft!" He skipped the corner of the kitchen table and threw himself in his brother's arms.

"Ah, sister dear!" Mycroft hugged him tightly. "Any chance that you will go back to Aurelia or do I really have to get used to Sherlock?"

"You have to get used to it," Sherlock insisted, when Mycroft put him back down. Their parents too, had gotten used to it -mostly in the nine months since Sherlock had come out to them. Sometimes, they still slipped - Mummy more often than Dad - but it was fine with Sherlock. Mummy had read a lot of books about gender theories - Sherlock had found them on her desk - and he knew that he could count on them.

"What did you do to your hair?"

Sherlock glanced up to catch the Mycroft's disapproving look as he took in the short curls. They had reached down to his chest, before Sherlock had gone to the hairdresser with his Dad.

"Most boys don't have long hair."

Mycroft pulled a face at this - he had loved to brush and braid Sherlock's long hair. "You aren't a boy, though."

Sherlock gulped at the disappointed look on his brother's face, but forced himself to say what needed to be said. "Yes, I am a boy. That's why I changed my name to Sherlock. I'm transgender and..."

"Nonsense!"

Sherlock flinched away from Mycroft, as his brother's hand came down on the table. "Who told you such nonsense?! You're my beautiful little sister. You don't need to be a boy to do experiments or take judo lessons!"

"I know!" Sherlock shouted back, although he was trembling inside. This wasn't going as he had planned. Mycroft should be over the moon to have a brother by now or - at the very least - ask smart questions. His brother wasn't supposed to brush off his gender identity like this. 

"Girls have the same potential as boys have, but... I'm still a boy. Not because I think I can't do something as a girl, but because I'm just not one. I will never be a woman, I will grow up to be a man and as soon as I'm old enough I will get hormones and..."

"Did you know about these crazy ideas?" Mycroft interrupted Sherlock as their parents stepped into the kitchen.

"If by crazy ideas you mean that Sherlock is transgender, then yes, your brother told us," Mummy replied calmly, while their Dad moved closer to them.

"Brother?!" Mycroft spit the word in disbelief and Sherlock backed away from him, until he felt the calming presence of his Dad behind him. "You can't seriously believe that someone can just change their gender like this."

"It's not like this, Mycroft," Mummy explained calmly. "I have done some research and gender appears to be much more complex than most of us have always thought. I believe Sherlock, when he says that he is a boy."

His brother sneered - he had never before acted like this towards their parents - and Sherlock believed that he would have spat on the floor, if it hadn't been for his good manners. "If I had any say in it, I would send my dear sister to see a therapist or send her to a psychiatric clinic, until she got rid of these stupid ideas, but as it is, I will just leave. I certainly won't watch while my little sister succumbs to a mental illness."

The picture of Mycroft blurred before Sherlock's eyes as his brother turned around to collect his luggage. He didn't want his brother to leave - not like this - but he also didn't want to listen to more of his abuse. 

"Mycroft," he still whispered pleadingly and his brother turned towards him once more, a sad smile on his face, but determination in his eyes. "I know this isn't your fault, Aurelia. You're just ill. When you can finally admit to yourself that something is wrong with you, give me a call and I will find a specialist for you."

Sherlock gaped at his brother in disbelief. For a second, he couldn't breathe as his chest constricted painfully at his brother's insults, before strong arms hugged him close and he was enfolded by the familiar scent of his Dad.

"Mycroft Edward Holmes," he heard his mother rant as he clung to his Dad. "If you go like this, don't think you have to come back, before you have come to your senses, young man."

"I'm not the one, who believes he has suddenly changed his gender nor am I the one who supports this nonsense."

"I had expected better of you, Mycroft, but if that's what you believe, then go. But dare to insult your brother ever again and I will make sure that all of your valuable contacts learn of all your little misdeeds as a teenager."

"Fine!"

There were only footsteps and the sound of a banging door afterwards and Sherlock couldn't hold back the sobs as he heard the engine of a car. Mycroft had left. His big brother had abandoned him and thought that Sherlock was crazy.

His parents held him, while he cried himself out and finally fell asleep to the stifled sobs of his mother and the soothing voice of his Dad.

 

Mycroft had come around in the end... nine years later, when Sherlock had overdosed for the first time. Sherlock grimaced at the memory of finding his big brother next to his hospital bed, after he had spent the better part of a week in a medically medical induced coma. He had never learned what exactly had changed his brother's mind - the shock of almost losing Sherlock or his transgender assistant - and he had never cared to ask. Mycroft had abandoned him, when Sherlock had most needed him and no matter how hard his brother had tried afterwards to make up for it, Sherlock could never really forgive him for all the years of silence between them. And so, they had settled into their respective roles, Sherlock the wild, eccentric little brother and Mycroft, powerful, controlling older one. 

 

It could have been different, everything could have gone differently, if only... Sherlock shook his head to push the unwanted thoughts aside. He couldn't change how everything had turned out and for the most part, he didn't want to. Against the prediction of a lot of people Sherlock had become the man he had always been meant to be and if some idiots weren't willing to understand that, then... they could deal with Mycroft.

 

Sherlock grinned as he glanced at the crumpled letter from his insurance and reached for his phone. His brother owed him something for bringing back such painful memories - by merely existing - when Sherlock was already upset about John's reaction.

 

"Brother dear," he started, when Mycroft picked up his phone. "I need you to take care of some trouble with my health insurance for me."

 

At least, Sherlock thought when he ended the call, he didn't have to worry about his next pelvic exam, now that Mycroft was on the case. Now he only needed to worry about John and his reaction, when he came back home... lovely.


	2. A Glimpse of the Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry it took me longer than anticipated to update this chapter, but RL kept me busier than expected.^^" Enjoy the new chapter. :)
> 
> Thanks again to **Tstui1gos** for taking the time to beta- read this chapter. I am very grateful for your help.

### A Glimpse of the Future

Sherlock was transgender, the sentence became a mantra as John marched through the park at a brisk pace, without paying any mind to the nature around him. He really couldn't find it in himself to marvel at the beautiful flowers. Not when his world had just turned upside down... or had it?

 

John stopped abruptly and ignored the protest of a biker as he had to maneuver around his unmoving form as he stared straight ahead at the lake. If he looked at everything from a logical point of view, then nothing had really changed. Sherlock had always been transgender - or at least for a long time - and John only knew him as the man he was now. It wasn't that he would have to get used to new pronouns or a new name, he just needed to treat his friend like usual and everything would be fine... or would it?

 

A tortured sigh was torn from John's lips as he slumped down on a park bench and tried to sort through the maelstrom of feelings that were swirling through him. First of all he didn't have anything against transgender people. Admittedly, he couldn't completely comprehend the feeling of having been assigned the wrong gender at birth, but he could empathize with someone wanting to feel comfortable in their body. He had also learned on his latest advanced training course about gender theory for medical professionals that being transgender wasn't only about the body, but that other factors - like cultural ideas - also played a role in it. Most importantly John had learned that the experience was different for everyone - although you could find similarities in a lot of cases. That said, this knowledge helped John to understand his friend from a professional point of view, but it didn't help him much in sorting through his feelings.

 

John groaned quietly and rubbed his hands together, when a cold breeze tore at his jacket. He could go and find himself a café to think. It would be warm and he could have a cup of coffee and some pastries, but John doubted that he could think around other people. He had always been better at solving problems when he was alone with his thoughts and this time wasn't any different. John put his hands in the pockets of his jacket to warm them up and decided to tackle one question at a time.

 

Firstly, did he see Sherlock differently now?

 

John allowed himself the time to sort through memories of the two of them together and then slowly shook his head. The fact that Sherlock was transgender did neither change his brilliance nor all of his eccentricities which drove John mad at times. He was still the infuriating git he had always been. Actually, the additional knowledge only changed how John imagined Sherlock's childhood, teenage years and his time at university. It didn't take a genius to figure out that Sherlock had had a hard time around his peers and his transition probably hadn't helped matters if John's assessment of his peer group was correct - especially when he thought of people like Sebastian Wilkes. John grimaced at the thought of this scumbag insulting Sherlock in more ways than he had imagined so far and he really hoped that the banker had never learned of his friend's gender identity. 

 

What about Mycroft, a voice whispered in his mind and John frowned harder as he thought of the strained relationship of the brothers. He had always imagined that it was simple - or not so simple, because two Holmeses were involved - sibling rivalry, but it was also highly possible that Mycroft minded that his brother was transgender. Or maybe, he had come around by now, but not before he had destroyed Sherlock's trust in him completely.

 

John withstood the impulse of reaching for his phone and giving the older Holmes a piece of his mind. It wasn't his place to interfere with something he only had a vague idea of. Besides, Mycroft's feelings towards his brother weren't of any importance right now... but John's were.

 

He leaned back on the bench and pursed his lips as he stared at the cloudy sky. It was safe to say that he still saw himself as Sherlock's friend. John had no problems imagining how they would argue about eating habits and experiments in the fridge, only to enjoy some crap TV later in the evening. Also, John didn't see his friend as less of a man - or any such nonsense - either. The revelation of the yearly pelvic exams and the implications of how Sherlock's genitals looked didn't change how John viewed him. Okay, alright... it might change his fantasies - whenever he allowed himself the luxury of thinking of his friend in sexual terms - but the thought wasn't off-putting to John. To be honest, it also wasn't more of a turn on it was just... different. A little different only, because everything else about Sherlock stayed exactly the same.

 

So, where did that leave him? Obviously, he was still in love with his friend and would never get away from him, although it was highly unlikely that Sherlock would ever return his feelings... he was married to his work after all. Nothing new on this front, which meant that very little had changed for John since he had gotten up this morning.

 

He only needed to satisfy his professional curiosity on some points before he went home, so as not to blurt out some intrusive questions when he talked with Sherlock the next time. But this, John decided as he got up from the bench, he could also look up at the next café, before he froze his bollocks off.

 

OOO

 

A text from Lestrade.

 

Sherlock looked hopefully at his phone - a case was exactly what he needed to take his mind off the fact that John had been gone for three hours and thirteen minutes - but sighed in frustration a second later. Why would Lestrade think that Sherlock would come down to the Yard to give his statement for their latest case, today? As far as Sherlock could remember, he had never followed one of the Inspector's summons and either waited for Lestrade to come to him or - for the past five years - sent John to deal with the annoying paperwork.

 

Still, Sherlock glanced at his phone thoughtfully, meeting Lestrade could still have its merits. He could ask the Inspector how long he believed it would take John to wrap his head around Sherlock's gender identity. Not only because Lestrade was better at understanding emotions than Sherlock was, but also because the Inspector had needed some time to deal with the revelation that his consulting detective was transgender, too. 

 

On the other hand, Lestrade's initial reaction had been vastly different from John's, so he probably wouldn't be of much help, Sherlock decided after a while and put his phone aside. He just hoped that his friend wouldn't take as long as the Inspector to come back to him. Sherlock would even put up with some intrusive questions if it meant that he didn't have to wait for much longer to find out how John felt about him. It had almost driven him crazy at the time, when he hadn't been certain if Lestrade would still work with him after he had found out his secret.

 

"Jumping into the Thames to retrieve a murder weapon... Don't ever pull such a stupid stunt again, Sherlock! Do you hear me?! This was absolutely insane."

Sherlock barely managed to summon the strength to roll his eyes as Lestrade kept on berating him for his - as he called it - thoughtless behaviour, all the way to his flat in Montague Street. He really could have done without the Inspector's annoying monologue, but Sherlock wasn't sure if he would have made it home without his help. He was drenched down to his pants and cold to the bones, not to mention that he was shaking like a leaf - and too tired to fight against it. No, Sherlock doubted that he would have managed his way back home in a cab, without the driver taking him to the nearest hospital. And if Sherlock liked something less than Lestrade's severe lecture than it was a hospital filled with incompetent idiots that doubted his gender.

"The case is solved and you can finally get a good night's sleep, Inspector," Sherlock put in, when Lestrade mentioned for the countless time how dangerous his swim in the Thames had been.

"After I have gotten you dry and warm and made sure that you go to bed tonight." Sherlock huffed an irritated breath and shivered at the same time as the Inspector opened the door to his flat and ushered him inside.

"I'm not a child, you know," Sherlock pressed out as the Inspector helped him out of his ruined jacket - now he finally had a good reason to buy that Belstaff coat he had seen - and crossed his arms in front of his chest as Lestrade reached for his shirt buttons. "Don't you fear a sexuality crisis, if you undress another man, Inspector?" 

The words were meant to chase the man out of his flat, but Lestrade merely raised an eyebrow at him. "I'm very comfortable with my sexuality, Sherlock, but thank you for worrying. I understand if you don't want any help with your clothes, but I will still stay until you have taken a shower and at least have eaten a few biscuits."

"You better start the kettle, then. Black, two sugars." Sherlock turned his back to the Inspector - he knew where everything was in the kitchen - and stumbled in the direction of the bathroom. His whole body yearned for some sleep, but Sherlock knew that he needed to take a shower first. It wasn't only to get warmed up, but also because one could never know what was floating around in the Thames.

Sherlock climbed into the shower and started to scrub himself as best he could, while his teeth were chattering away and his muscles felt like jelly. He hoped that Lestrade wouldn't stay much longer after he had made sure that Sherlock would survive the night. No matter how much Sherlock appreciated the Inspector's concern - which of course he would never admit - it made him feel self-conscious to be around the man, without at least some trousers on and a button-down shirt. It made Sherlock hyper aware of the parts of his body, that were too... female. He was only glad that he didn't have to worry about a binder anymore and that the key-hole surgery hadn't left any scars behind - at least none you found without looking for them. Otherwise, Sherlock doubted that he would have allowed the Inspector into his flat. Lestrade might be a good man, but Sherlock had met enough good men to know that they not always took well to the revelation that someone was transgender.

Sherlock turned the water off when it started to get cold and stepped out of the tub, while simultaneously reaching for a towel. This was a mistake in his current state. The thought registered in Sherlock's mind a split second before he slipped and landed on the floor with a loud thud.

"Fuck," Sherlock muttered as he rearranged his limbs and made to sit up, just as the door to the bathroom was thrown open.

"Holy Christ, you really want me to get a heart attack," Lestrade cursed and grabbed him under the arms to haul him up, before Sherlock could stop him. "You really are..." Lestrade started his newest lecture, before he shut his mouth abruptly. Sherlock didn't need to look at him to know which part of his body had rendered the Inspector speechless.

"If you are quite finished staring at my genitals, you could hand me a towel," Sherlock snapped angrily and was rewarded by seeing Lestrade splutter and blush as he handed over the towel.

"I'm sorry, but... you know, Sherlock that you don't need to do this."

"Do what?" Sherlock snapped as he exchanged the towel for his bathrobe and walked to the couch with as much dignity as the cold shudders that ran through his body would allow him. 

"You don't need to disguise yourself as a man," Lestrade replied from where he stood next to the couch. "Everyone would still take you seriously as a woman and..."

"I'm not a woman," Sherlock all but growled as he huddled under the covers the Inspector had placed on the couch. "I might not have a penis, but I'm still a man."

"Are you sure, because..."

"Get out!" Sherlock knew that he could have explained his gender identity better and that some might say that he was acting unfairly towards Lestrade, but he didn't care. He was cold, tired and hungry and he just couldn't deal with Lestrade's questions right now. Sherlock hadn't planned to come out to him tonight and he certainly wasn't obliged to explain his gender to the Inspector just because the man had stumbled over his secret.

"Alright, I will... check on you later."

Sherlock didn't deem this worth a reply and waited until he was sure that the Inspector had left the building, before he reached for his steaming mug and a chocolate biscuit. He forced down some biscuits and drained the tea before he slumped down on the couch. The last few days had taken its toll and Sherlock couldn't deny his body's needs any longer. He fell asleep before he could even start to wonder if Lestrade would continue to work with him. 

OOO

Four days and still nothing.

Sherlock lit another cigarette and leaned out of the window of his flat as he inhaled deeply. Lestrade hadn't contacted him again, after this disastrous night - not even to get him down to the Yard for statements. Apparently, Sherlock would have to get on the good side of another Inspector if he wanted to continue working on cases for the police. Considering that he only got a few private cases every couple of months, Sherlock doubted that he would survive long without the distraction of a good murder or even an original burglary. Or rather, he would survive it, but probably not without falling back on his old coping mechanisms and even he wasn't certain that he would be able to quit his drug habit for a second time, if he was tempted to use again.

"And everything just because of a murder weapon," Sherlock muttered to himself as he stubbed out his cigarette on the window sill and snipped it down onto the street. Some would tell him that it was better to learn of the Inspector's feelings towards trans people now, but Sherlock would have rather kept it a secret from Lestrade forever, instead of losing the companionship - they weren't friends - of the man.

"Pathetic," Sherlock scolded himself for his own thoughts when there was a knock at the door.   
Frowning slightly - he hadn't done any experiments or late night violin playing to annoy the neighbors for a couple of days - he went to get the door and raised an eyebrow at his unexpected guest.

"Inspector," he greeted with a skeptical frown and Lestrade sighed quietly as he fidgeted with a folder in his hands. "I still need your statement on the case."

"Of course," Sherlock murmured and quenched the tiny seed of hope that had started to grow in his chest as he gestured for the Inspector to come in.

"Actually," Lestrade started, when Sherlock pushed a pile of papers aside to clear space on the table. "I'm not just here for the report. I could have sent one of my Constables for that."

"Really?" Sherlock drawled and prepared himself to throw the Inspector out of his flat if he had the nerve to bombard him with offensive questions.

"Yes, I... wanted to apologize." Sherlock met Lestrade's nervous gaze with a confused frown, which appeared to urge the Inspector to elaborate. "What I said, when I saw..." A blush crept into his cheeks as he gestured helplessly in the direction of both of their groins. "It was inappropriate and I apologize for it."

Sherlock nodded slowly and cocked his head to the side as he looked more closely at the Inspector. He still appeared ill at ease, but not overly uncomfortable. There were no hints of disgust or judgment hidden in his body language and Sherlock relaxed marginally as he fit the pieces of the puzzle together. "You did some research."

Lestrade nodded and shrugged. "I have never met a... someone who is transgender before and it took some time online to get the general idea of it, but I think I get it now."

"Get what?" Sherlock asked, before he could get his hopes up, only to have them crushed.

"That you're a man, who was born with the wrong body?" There was a question mark at the end of the sentence and it wasn't completely correct, but close enough for now.

"We are good, then?" Lestrade obviously needed verbal confirmation that Sherlock had forgiven him and the young man snorted in mock annoyance at that. "Yes, we are good, although we both know that you only stick around, so that I can solve your cases for you."

"Hey, no need to get cocky!" Lestrade slapped Sherlock's shoulder and then offered him a cigarette.

"I thought you had quit," Sherlock wondered aloud as they stood side by side at the window to smoke.

"And I thought you weren't that much of a wanker, obviously we were both wrong." This tore a laugh from Sherlock, before he had to correct something. "I'm never wrong."

 

Sherlock allowed himself a small smile at the memory. Lestrade's initial reaction hadn't been overly positive, but the Inspector had come around faster than most people and he had never bothered Sherlock with offensive questions about his transition. He had been curious and on the edge of asking - Sherlock had deduced that much - but he had kept his curiosity in check and Sherlock was still thankful for that. It would have been a setback to the Work if he had lost Lestrade's support and... Sherlock would have missed him as a friend as well, although he wouldn't admit to it under torture.

 

If John reacted like the Inspector, then Sherlock could live with it, he decided and got up to retrieve his violin. They would move past this and could just continue their lives like before. Sherlock ignored the part of his mind that pointed out that it would be a much more satisfying outcome if John reacted like Molly... but this was illusory.

 

"Are you working on the Bredstead case?"

Sherlock didn't glance up from his microscope as Molly entered the room. "No, I'm working on a new experiment with phytotoxins. I already solved the case."

"Oh." Clothes rustled as Molly moved closer, but still kept a professional distance between them. "So, who did it?"

"The tennis instructor."

"And I would have bet my money that it was the gardener." Molly laughed nervously and Sherlock frowned slightly. "They didn't even have a gardener... or even a garden." 

He didn't get it, when Molly giggled at his statement. It was probably some kind of inside joke - maybe from a popular TV series - that Sherlock had never heard of. Why should someone assume that the gardener had murdered someone when no proof pointed towards it? It didn't make sense.

Sherlock decided to let it go instead of discussing the point with Molly. She would only get flustered if he questioned her strange behavior and contrary to popular belief Sherlock didn't want to make her uncomfortable. She was a trustworthy friend and top in her fields of study... and it didn't hurt either that she allowed him to use the equipment at Bart's.

"Was there something else you wanted or can I continue with my work?"

"Actually..." Sherlock didn't need to look up to know that Molly was playing with her hair nervously as she stumbled over her own words. "I wondered... would you like to have some coffee? With me, I mean?" 

Even Sherlock couldn't ignore the hopeful note in her voice and he sighed inwardly. Sometimes, it was helpful that Molly had a crush on him, but at other time Sherlock found himself wondering if he wasn't unfair to her. He didn't want to turn her down and hurt her and he had never figured out how to let someone down gently... if that was even possible. At the same time, Sherlock also didn't want to lead her on and keep her from finding herself a boyfriend. Maybe, he mused, as he fixed Molly with a calculating look, it would be enough to give her a reason to let go of her love for him - it had worked before, although it hadn't been planned at the time.

"I'm a trans-man," Sherlock blurted out, before he could think twice about it.

Silence, Molly blinked at him in confusion and then: "What's that got to do with having coffee together?"

Sherlock furrowed his brow. In his experience, these things were directly linked, at least when having coffee together implied more than sharing a hot beverage. Still, he didn't mention to Molly that most people had either withdrawn their offer at this point or at least taken some time to think about it before hitting on him again. So far, it hadn't happened that someone hadn't cared at all, but Sherlock didn't mention this to Molly as he shrugged. "I just wanted you to know." It was close enough to the truth.

A hesitant smile brightened Molly's face. "Thank you for your trust and about the coffee..."

"Yes."

"Yes?" Molly echoed in disbelief, when Sherlock got up from his chair and gestured for her to lead the way out of the lab He knew that he was sending the wrong signal, when Molly beamed at him and grabbed her purse on the way out, but there had been no way to decline her offer after she had reacted so wonderfully. Sherlock just needed to savor the feeling of having been wholly accepted so fast for a bit, before he went back to his experiment. And certainly, a shared coffee couldn't do much harm, could it?

 

Sherlock snorted to himself and finished his little private concert on a darker note than was slightly necessary before he moved on to a piece of Mozart. It was his fault that Molly hadn't been able to move on from her crush on him for years. If Sherlock had just found it in him to turn her down - gently or not - then she could have found herself a nice boyfriend - who wasn't a psychopathic serial killer - years ago. Fine, she had a new love prospect now - and Sherlock had high hopes for Lestrade and her - but he still felt like he had stood in her way to happiness for a long time. But it had felt so good to be desired by someone who knew that he was transgender and who hadn't cared.

 

Sherlock sighed at his own pathetic excuse, although he couldn't deny the initial feelings behind it. It wasn't that he hadn't had his share of lovers - mostly in his time at university - but somehow his being transgender had always gotten in the way of a long-term relationship. Not that Sherlock had wanted to keep most of his lovers, but he could admit to having deeper feelings for at least two of them. Sadly, one had started to treat him as a woman, after they had indulged in vaginal sex once and the other serious prospect had tried to convince him to get bottom surgery. 

 

Sherlock grimaced at the thought and his violin protested with a horrible scratch when he lost his rhythm for a second. For him, bottom surgery had never been an option. The risks of losing sensitivity in his genitals had been much too high when Sherlock had first looked at the options offered. He might still have undertaken the step, if he hadn't been able to live with himself otherwise, but luckily Sherlock had never felt completely terrible about the set of genitals he had gotten. A little uneasy from time to time - especially in public restrooms - but never as badly as to be unable to ignore it. Besides, Sherlock chuckled quietly, he would never have survived taking it slowly after and between surgeries. He was lucky that he had had his breasts removed, before he had started his work as a consulting detective or he would have died of sheer boredom in that time, especially if John had already been around and insisted on following the instructions of the doctors.

 

If John had stayed during such a time, a mean voice - that sounded a lot like Mycroft - whispered in Sherlock's mind and forced him to stop his play, before he could ruin the piece of music completely.

 

He couldn't deduce if John would have supported him during his transition, but Sherlock hoped that he would at least support him now. That they could just put this whole business behind them, to go back to being flatmates - and hopefully - best friends again. After all, they had been through so much together - and John had even forgiven him for faking his death. Surely the gender of one of them shouldn't get in the way of their friendship, should it?

 

Sherlock closed his eyes as if in prayer and jumped abruptly when the door downstairs opened. He took a shaking breath as he listened to his friend's footsteps on the staircase. Steady - hadn't drunk anything and wasn't in shock about the revelation, but could still be angry as John tended to become perfectly calm, before he exploded. Sherlock forced himself to take a deep breath, before he stepped in front of the window and turned his back to the front door. He didn't want John to find any evidence that Sherlock had waited for him to come back and... he also wanted to give his friend the time to school his expression, because if he felt anything even remotely like disgust then Sherlock didn't want to see it. He doubted that he could bear it if his friend's reaction would be so negative.

 

The door opened. Steps in the floor, rustling of clothes - John hanging his jacket - and then quiet steps - he had taken off his shoes and didn't plan to go out again tonight - until John came to stand next to his armchair.

 

"Sherlock." His voice was like always - steady and friendly - and Sherlock finally dared to turn around to meet his friend's gaze. "I need to apologize."

 

Sherlock shook his head slightly as he took in his friend's serious eyes and the insecure tilt of his lips. "What for?" As far as he could tell, John hadn't done anything wrong... not yet at least. Sherlock hoped that his friend wasn't going to apologize for not noticing sooner that he was transgender because that would feel... weird, although it wasn't the worst case scenario his mind could come up with.

 

"For running away like this, after you had just shared a very private piece of yourself with me." That sounded promising and not like John had found anything wrong with Sherlock in the - he glanced at the clock - four hours he had been away. Still...

 

"I have had worse reactions and besides I rather shocked you with this revelation."

 

John shook his head, a small smile on his face. "You didn't shock me. It was a surprise," John admitted, when Sherlock started to protest. "But it wasn't a terrible one."

 

"So, why did you leave then?" Sherlock was truly curious about this point. John had only ever gone for one of his walks if he had needed to cool down, after Sherlock had done something a bit not good \- like exploding the toaster. But if John hadn't been angry, then why...

 

"I didn't want to say the wrong thing." John shrugged uncertainly when Sherlock only managed to stare at him in disbelief. "It felt like hundreds of questions had sprung to my mind when I learned that you are transgender and I... just needed to sort through them to see if there was anything of importance that I needed to say to you about the topic."

 

"And," Sherlock wondered haltingly. "Was there? Anything you wanted to say?" His heart beat painfully inside his ribcage, when John nodded. Please, he prayed inwardly, let it be something harmless. Something that won't speak of total ignorance. 

 

"I just needed to tell you that nothing has changed, as far as I am concerned."

 

Sherlock blinked in confusion, his mind stuttered to an abrupt halt as he could only stare at John's open expression. "Nothing?"

 

"No." John scratched his head. "You are still who you were this morning. My feelings for you haven't changed at all."

 

"So you still love me?" Sherlock blurted the question out before he could think twice and snapped his mouth shut in disbelief, when the meaning of his own words registered with him and he could only watch in paralyzing horror as John's eyes widened comically at the question. 

 

OOO

 

"You..." John shook his head and stared at his friend in disbelief. He had imagined a lot of reactions upon his return to Baker Street - from Sherlock in a sulk to him being immersed in an experiment and not paying any mind to John - but this one hadn't been among them. No, not in a million years would John have imagined that Sherlock would inquire about his feelings for him... at least not in this way. Honestly, John hadn't been aware that Sherlock knew of his feelings for him - he had believed himself very good at hiding them - otherwise he probably wouldn't have managed to continue living with his friend. After all, it was hard enough to live with unrequited love when you believed that the object of your affection didn't know about it, but at least then you could fantasies that they would return your feelings if only they knew. But to learn that they were aware of your feelings and had never said anything about it... that was hard.

 

John took a shaking breath, forced himself to remain calm and to give Sherlock the benefit of the doubt - maybe he had only deduced his love for him this morning - and jumped in at the deep end. "Yes, I still love you, you berk. When did you figure it out?"

 

The panic in Sherlock's expression receded and something cautiously hopeful entered his eyes as he met John's gaze. "That you love me?" John nodded. "I wasn't completely sure that your feelings run so deep, but all the facts spoke for it. It was a lucky slip."

 

John narrowed his eyes at that. "Which facts?"

 

"You forgave me for faking my death and you were never serious about any of your girlfriends. You always came back to me and - most importantly - your feelings didn't fade with the years."

 

John had half a mind to storm out of the flat again as he listened to Sherlock's reasoning, but he stubbornly stood his ground while keepings his temper in check at the same time. While he could forgive Sherlock for deducing his feelings like this, it was harder to wrap his head around the fact that Sherlock had known of them for years... or at least, it sounded this way. 

 

"Did you just look back and deduce when I fell for you or have you known all along?" John   
hated the heat that crept into his face at the question. Damn, he was a grown man, he should be able to talk about his feelings without blushing like a maiden from the 18th century.

 

"All along?" Sherlock offered uncertainly and bit down on his lower lip, when John glared darkly at him. "How long?"

 

"Since the pool." 

 

Sherlock's words almost sent John through the roof as his whole world tilted and he was left adrift in a floating space, between anger and desperation. "You were aware of my feelings and yet you still faked your death?!" 

 

It was true that John had forgiven his friend for the two years of grief and despair, but he had done so in the belief that Sherlock hadn't realised how much he meant to him. But that his friend had put him through so much, when... Calm down, Watson, a harsh voice called John back to earth as he was at risk of losing himself in his old anger. It wouldn't be fair to attack Sherlock for something they had discussed numerous times already. Besides, John had forgiven him. He had understood Sherlock's reasons for going after Moriarty's network alone and it would be rather petty to go back on his forgiveness now.

 

"It was the only way, John. I explained to you why..."

 

"Yes, you did." John waved Sherlock's words aside and shook his head. "I forgave you for it and I'm not angry about your faked death. Not anymore, not really."

 

John wasn't surprised to see complete confusion written all over his friend's face. This really wasn't Sherlock's area and John dismissed the thought of leaving Sherlock to guess about his reaction until a later date. No, if they wanted to move past this and preserve their friendship, then it would be better to get everything out in the open, instead of letting it fester. "I'm angry, because you never even so much as hinted that you knew how I feel about you."

 

Instead of clearing things up, John's words appeared to have made the situation even more complicated for Sherlock. At least, if his raised eyebrows and the deep frown on his forehead were anything to go by. "But it wouldn't have changed anything if I had told you that I was aware of your feelings for me."

 

A quiet sigh fell from John's lips. So much for that. "I would at least have known that you knew. There wouldn't have been any reason to hide them anymore. It would have been easier for me, even without you returning them." There, now even Sherlock should understand it.

"But I do. You just never acted on them, that's why I didn't say anything." The Obviously, do keep up, was as clearly heard in John's mind as if Sherlock had spoken the words out loud and it made his ears ring with numerous possibilities even while he tried to keep his hope in check.

 

"You do what?" John asked cautiously, before it could come to a phenomenal misunderstanding. He needed to be sure that he had understood Sherlock correctly before he could even allow the tiniest seed of hope to grow.

 

"Return your feelings. Obviously." A light blush graced Sherlock's cheeks as he averted his gaze and directed his next words at the skull instead. "I thought you didn't want to act on them, because I'm trans. Now, considering that I miscalculated and you only got this piece of information today, I can only assume..."

 

"You told me that you weren't interested," John snapped. "At our first dinner. You told me that you were married to your work. I might have ignored this part, if you hadn't made it clear time and time again that you weren't interested in a romantic relationship. And you also never gave any indication that you were sexually attracted to anyone." John pinched his nose and huffed out an annoyed laugh. "I didn't want to make our friendship awkward by forcing my feelings on you, because I thought that you were aromantic and asexual."

 

"I'm not." Blue eyes bore into John's, as Sherlock took a few steps in his direction and stopped right next to his own armchair. "I'm gay and yes," an amused sparkle entered Sherlock's eyes. "I have had lovers in the past. The Woman's information on this was wrong."

 

John nodded half-heartedly, even while he tried to wrap his head around everything that had just been said. Really, it had been much easier to accept that Sherlock was transgender and add this information to everything he already knew about his friend than to believe that Sherlock had been sexually active in the past. No, scratch that, John could believe that his friend had experimented with sex, it was more the part about being interested in sex - outside of an experiment - and returning his feelings that... Oh Christ!

 

Hysterical laughter bubbled up in John and he could only lean over the backrest of his armchair as a wave of giggles and gasps left him breathless. "All this... time, we... we were both... interested and..." No, there really wasn't any reason to laugh, but John feared that he would cry if he didn't let his feelings out this way. Cry over all the lost years they would never get back. Even if they got together now, there would be so many memories they would never make just because they had both been so stupid as to hold onto their assumptions, instead of talking about their feelings like adults.

 

"John." Sherlock's worried voice penetrated his dark thoughts. John had to blink away tears as he looked up at his friend, who had crossed the distance between them but for a few inches that remained. "Are you alright?"

 

John somehow managed to nod and shake his head at the same time. "Not yet, but I will be. It's just... we could have been together for years and we were both too stupid to see it."

 

To his surprise, Sherlock's response to this was a shrug. "And you might have never forgiven me that I had to fake my death if we had been together at this point in time. It's just as well." Another shrug and then Sherlock took a measured step closer to John. "What you said... does this mean that you are still interested in a relationship? Even now that you know that I'm transgender."

 

John believed he gave a good imitation of Sherlock as he rolled his eyes at his friend. "Which part of 'my feelings for you haven't changed' didn't you understand? " A slow smile was shared between them. "Are you still interested in a relationship with me?" John countered and at Sherlock's annoyed huff and nod, he finally leaned in for their first kiss.

 

It was sweet - sweeter than he had ever imagined - as their lips met for the first time. There was no adrenalin high that fueled their passion and clouded their senses and John was grateful for it. Grateful that he got to notice how soft Sherlock's lips were without thinking about the fastest way to one of their bedrooms. Grateful that he got to learn how his friend tasted - like sweet tea and dark chocolate - without wanting to devour him on the spot. Grateful that they had finally managed to get to the point, where their tongues explored each other's mouth before they had both turned old and grey. All in all, John couldn't have wished for a better first kiss and he was going to savor it for as long as possible.

 

OOO

 

"And what now?" Sherlock whispered as he broke their kiss and pressed their foreheads together. When John had left the flat this morning, he had never imagined that the day would end like this. In fact, he hadn't dared dream about a day, when he would finally get to kiss John for years now. It had been too painful to imagine the feeling of his friend's lips on his only to be reminded that they would never be together in this way. But now, they were together and... Sherlock admitted that he was a bit at a loss for what to do next. He hadn't been with a potential romantic partner - he discounted one night stands - in over a decade and he certainly had never felt so deeply for anyone before. It was frightening, but Sherlock trusted John to figure it out for them.

 

"Now," John carded his fingers through his curls and Sherlock sighed happily. "We prepare dinner together - I thought about lasagne - then we eat and share some of your chocolate for dessert while cuddling on the couch... if you are amenable."

 

A small smile flickered over Sherlock's face as he nodded in agreement to everything John had and hadn't said. "You want to take things slowly and one step at a time, because you want to savor our new relationship. I'm fine with that."

 

"They don't call you a genius for nothing." John winked and pressed another kiss to Sherlock's lips, before he disappeared in the direction of the kitchen.

 

Sherlock waited until the sounds of clattering pots couldn't be ignored any longer before he followed his friend - boyfriend - into the kitchen to help with the dinner preparations. Between chopping vegetables, adding spices and bickering over the optimal temperature to let the sauce simmer, Sherlock admitted to himself that John's idea to take their relationship slowly was perfect. This way, they both got to enjoy every moment - every little change - without losing sight of the strong friendship that had brought them to this point.


End file.
